Reverent
by White Phantom
Summary: Even with her father lost to the plague, her brother missing, and her mother a despondent husk, Katherine Smithson managed to keep herself together. Good thing she doesn't know that one of her guild mates wants her dead. Sequel of sorts to A Simple Tale.
1. Chapter 1: The Dark Portal

_Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of its lore. This disclaimer will cover the whole story, since I'm too lazy to make one for each chapter._

_A/N: This is sort of a sister fic to Impervious, in that characters from this story have been referenced and even made brief appearances in that story and it is likely that vice versa will occur later in this one. There is no need to read Impervious to get this story, however._

...-...

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, not really. Actually, the storm had passed almost an hour ago and sunlight was just starting to pierce through the cloud cover.

How miserable.

Emma Clarington wound a lock of brilliant blonde hair around one of her fingers as she leaned against the window frame beside her bed. The sheets were bunched around her waist and her bare bosom had goose bumps from the chill in the air. Autumn was coming. Even as she fantasized about infernals raining form the sky and flattening half of Stormwind, or at least a particular mage sect's quarters, Kristoff Taylor ran his knuckles down her back, letting his fingers trail against her skin.

She didn't bother to look back at him. He didn't mean anything to her, really, and she was fairly certain that he knew that. She doubted she was much more than a way to pass the time to him. He, however, was more important. He was her vengeance.

William needed to be punished.

He'd spent the last guild meeting letting his eyes wander the room. Emma always watched him when he did, scrutinizing the way his gaze might happen across one of his female guild mates. It was such a simple spell, to stalk a lover by seeing through his eyes.

William's eyes never lingered, it was as though he was only interested in her and that was how it was supposed to be. She wanted to be the center of his world and it was completely unacceptable that anyone else might even give him pause for thought.

It wasn't all her fault, Emma supposed. It was his guild leader's, Mathew Cunningham. If he hadn't excited that worthless little mage the week before with a promise that she'd be able to go with them to Outland, Emma wouldn't have been forced to retaliate against William. Katherine Smithson. She was a bit shorter than Emma, her hair was brown and long, her eyes were doleful—she'd suffered more grief than most sixteen year olds—and she'd been absolutely floored that she would be going with the guild to right the wrongs of Outland.

William's eyes had lingered, taking in the way her face had lit up with excitement, the way she clasped her hands in front of her and jumped up and down with one of the younger priests in the guild, a Topher Barnett. The priest had a filthy mouth, but a good heart and had been pushing for Katherine to come with them for some time now, seeing as it was her dream to help save the world. A tribute to her father or some such nonsense.

William had only watched her for forty seconds, but it'd been forty seconds too long. When he'd come home to Emma, she'd nuzzled up to him and given him one of her brilliant smiles, running her fingers under his robe as she asked him about his day. He'd shrugged the way he always did. Then she'd asked him about Katherine. Even though he'd given her a blank look, she'd mistrusted him. Could he really watch someone so intensely and not even know their name?

The next guild meeting, it was as though her interests had piqued his. Of course it couldn't be Emma's fault, but William had quietly listened in while Katherine sat attentively, back straight, hands in her lap, eyes wide, while the older members of the guild explained to her all of the precautions she needed to take. Raiding could be dangerous. If they told her to move, it didn't matter if she was in the middle of a spell that she knew would dismember their enemies, she needed to move. There would always be another chance to cast a spell. There wouldn't be another chance to dodge an axe or run out of the way of a dragon's fire breath.

She was so easily impressionable. So enthusiastic. That priest, Topher, had seen William watching and had given him a brief glare, scooting his chair so that he blocked Katherine from view. Emma thought Topher deserved a reward for his help, though she wouldn't be the one to give it to him. No, she was fairly certain that a creature such as herself—technically she was human, but most who knew her agreed that it was only in the loosest definition—would combust or be smote—smited, smitten?—were she to step foot into the cathedral.

Such was the life of a warlock.

But William needed to learn that his interests were bad for him and so Emma had laced her fingers with Kristoff's earlier that morning, when their dastardly rituals were just finishing, and had led him up out of the torrid dungeons where they summoned demons, to the more presentable levels of her father's manor, and up into her room. Kristoff hadn't even bothered to ask if he was encroaching on anyone else's territory. Surely he'd seen her with her boy toy. Or did William really blend in that well? He was always so quiet.

And he never did anything over the top to show his feelings. It was as though his heart wasn't in it. Especially lately.

Well, two could play that disinterested card. She'd show him how little she needed him and then, when he was moping—maybe after he'd missed a summoning or two—she'd waltz back into his life, give him a night he wouldn't soon forget and things would settle down.

Kristoff watched Emma as she stared blankly at the clouds, her mind obviously elsewhere. He knew her game. She used sex to get whatever she wanted and it worked beautifully. He doubted she wanted him, but he was more than fine with that. After all, it wasn't like he'd had to pay her for her services. And she was creative. Even so, she was too wound up in whatever was going on and she was going to be disappointed soon enough.

It was a law of the universe, wasn't it?

~"~

William frowned as he hung back. The rest of his guild, Reverent, were preparing to pass through the newly opened Dark Portal. While he was as curious as any to see the hellish land, ravaged by the Burning Legion and crumbling as the life of the world itself drained off into the twisting nether, he had matters to take care of first.

He'd often wondered how Emma always seemed to know just what questions to ask him about his day. Some of her questions were eerily specific and for some time he'd known that she was stalking him in some manner. It hadn't been overly important, really—it wasn't like he was doing anything that would get him kicked out of their coven. Actually, as far as warlocks went, he was rather benign. Well...as of late. He hadn't done anything overzealous or horrific in a few years, easily before he'd earned Emma's infatuation.

However, a man couldn't always be expected to behave and while it was cute that Emma dabbled in darkness, she really didn't have clue what she was toying with. None of them did, really. But then, that wasn't his concern. William was only in the coven because he believed in checking his work. Really, the other warlocks were his equivalent of proofreaders. As close to his spells as he was, if he overlooked something, it was always nice to have a fresh set of eyes catch his mistake before he did something unfortunate, like searing his own skin off. And Emma was the grand warlock's daughter. Keeping her happy kept him happy and that kept William well funded and left to listen to the whispers of demons and power at his leisure.

William was looking forward to Outland and he didn't want to have little Emma using her spells and running home to tell Daddy that that quiet warlock was really much more apt at magic than any of them had realized. If they figured that out, they might start searching into his past and then they'd learn that William Grayson didn't really exist and...well, names were power and he wasn't about to give anyone or thing power over him.

No, no.

So he hung back behind his guild, whilst most of the healers and casters gathered near the portal itself, flasking—did they really think they'd need a flask for Outland?—and making sure they had plenty of food and water for whatever adventures might be beyond that ominous gate. Their guild leader, Mathew Cunningham, was busy arguing with the leaders of the forces around the portal. There was a Horde guild coming, but he wasn't sure he wanted them around. The Alliance leaders were completely against it and the Horde was obviously feeling snubbed. Ah, politics. He might entangle himself in some again, if he ever got bored enough.

But first...

William was one of two warlocks in the guild. The other was a gnome whose name he'd never bothered to learn. The gnome, despite being a master of darkness, was surprisingly chipper and enthusiastic and he and William avoided one another quite well. No reason to waste one another's time.

Because of that, William hadn't a worry in the world. Those self righteous paladins would leave him be and—unlikely as it was—should one try to ask what he was doing, he'd just hold up his dusty old tome and they'd have to settle for an occult explanation for his preparations. After all, for all they knew, that's exactly what he was doing. Preparing.

In a way it was.

He finished drawing a few runic circles into the ground and then tapped the ground. The runes gleamed for a moment, an eerie green, and then turned back to regular earth. Well, they looked it. However, as he stepped over the ground, his robes dragging along and collecting a nice ring of dust and grime around its hem, the runes remained intact. As his gaze happened across the lot that was his guild, he noticed Topher watching him with narrowed eyes and William frowned, slouching forward so that his hood hid his face. If anyone would try to ruin his cleansing—ironic that it was called that—it would be that loathsome priest.

William dropped to the ground, legs crossed, and began drawing a few quick symbols into the dirt. As he heard the dull thuds of feet trotting toward him, he had to struggle not to pick up his pace. This spell needed to be cast with care and should he hurry, he might forget an accent or some banal detail and who knew what might happen then? He didn't need a repeat of his last fiasco...though, honestly, that repercussion was quite incapable of being repeated.

Never the less.

As his finger dotted the last rune with uncanny precision, the runes all lit up in a rather pleasant violet and then faded out into the air, leaving the ground to look as dull as it had before he'd chosen it for his ritual. Whatever spell Emma had used to keep track of him, it was gone. He was free to be his own man again.

The thought had barely registered as an off white robe swished into the edge of his vision. William allowed his hood to fall back and turned his dark eyes up slowly to look at Topher, the bruise-like rings beneath them adding to his sickly, apathetic stare.

Topher's eyes were narrowed and his arms were crossed. His holy book hung on a chain against his hip and William wasn't sure why, but he had the strongest urge to grab it and toss it through the portal, just to see if the priest would fetch. "Care to join us?"

William arched an eyebrow as he rose to his feet. He was there, wasn't he? However, before he could curse Topher just for the hell of it, or Topher could open his mouth again—William wasn't one to believe in miracles, but the fact that the priest had spoken a full sentence without so much as a damn or fuck in it was probably something that would leave the other paladins preaching that the rapture was upon them—one of the other healers in the guild noticed the building animosity between the two and trotted over. Sypher Webbs was a paladin, exactly the kind of attention William didn't want, generally.

However, Sypher was more laid back than most puppets of the light. He slung an arm over each of their shoulders—both casters looked borderline anorexic next to his well toned body and all those rippling muscles—and began to lead them toward the portal. "Come along gentlemen. Let's save any dueling for after we kill some demons, hmm?"

Even as he spoke, two things happened, almost at once. The first was that the last members of their guild, whom they'd been waiting patiently upon, came charging over the rim of the crater surrounding the dark portal, yelling for everyone to fall back. The second was that Doom Lord Kazzak came crashing through the gateway. In a single swing, almost all of the healers and casters of the guild were lost, their blood pooling around lifeless corpses.

It was by chance really that Katherine Smithson hadn't been among them. She should have been, but she'd realized that she was still holding onto something that she'd been meaning to give to Mathew as a good luck charm. It was really just a bit of dried wheat, stems braided into a simple bracelet, but her father had taught her how to make it and she couldn't help but think that if she had given one to him when her family had headed south from the plague, he would have somehow escaped and managed to join them. Her brother had abandoned their family shortly after learning that their farm had been in the area that succumbed to the plague. She thought he hadn't been able deal with knowing that their father, their strong, handsome, honorable father had become an abomination, a walking corpse. Their mother hadn't. She stayed with Katherine's aunt in Redridge, passing her days in a blur, despondent and empty. Sometimes, she had moments where she'd almost remember. She'd blink and stare at Katherine and ask her when she'd gotten so tall. Then she'd whisper that Gregor would be home soon and that she needed to get dinner started.

Once, Katherine had tried to confront her mother, to force her to see that her father wasn't coming home. She'd burst into tears as she screamed that he was dead and her mother had smacked her. She'd told her that Gregor was a good man and that she shouldn't wish death upon a parent. Katherine hadn't gone back to see her after that. Mathew had been her father's friend and had been the one to take her family south while her father tried to tie a few things up before rejoining them.

He was all she had left.

That was why she'd made him the charm. She couldn't lose him, too. So, when she'd flipped open her backpack to see if she ought to conjure another stack of muffins, she saw the bracelet resting on top of everything and she'd excused herself from the conversation, trotting over to Mathew and waiting patiently behind him as he argued with the other important people. One of the orcs standing behind their leader had eyed her, with curiosity more than hostility. She was so young to be on the front lines and he seemed to recognize that. She tried to ignore the unwanted attention.

And then the portal had opened.

In a breath, fourteen lives were gone, replaced with mere lumps of mangled flesh.

Though she would never voice such a selfish thought, Katherine couldn't help but wonder if it had been her fault. Perhaps she was the charm and her luck was bad. After all, Reverent had defeated powerful enemies before. So why...?

Everything seemed to slow down. Mathew was shouting—everyone was—as he wretched a spare shield from its rack and tried to tank the beast, to keep it from wiping out the rest of the guild. One of the paladins, a noble named Sir Jonathan Caudry dropped his mace into the dirt as he called upon all the light he could, radiating healing energies toward everyone that he could see, though his spells were rudimentary and unrefined at best. He was no healer. Sypher and Topher had forgotten their warlock as they raced forward, their fingers invisible behind the blinding light continuously shining forth.

Everyone was stepping up. Even Katherine, though she didn't realize it until later when that same orc who had been watching her before offered her a crude compliment—common was not a tongue he was familiar with—in her power over frost. For the duration of the fight, she didn't even realize she was casting with speeds she'd never been able to pull off prior. Didn't realize how she'd managed to pull through, blinking once to reach one of their hunters, bandaging up a grievous cut on his arm and helping him stagger back into the range of their healers.

She didn't even see the Horde guild arrive, their healers offering their assistance without prompt.

The doom lord was slain that day, but at such a cost.

It left Katherine bitter to know that the thing people would remember most from that hellish fight wouldn't be the lives lost, but rather that the Alliance had been saved by the Horde. Truthfully, if it had been the Horde guild waiting at the portal, they would have fared just as poorly, but no one considered that. Reverent returned to Stormwind to lick their wounds and everyone watched them with disdain, whispering behind their backs. How dare they take assistance from those ruthless bastards. Those damnable orcs and their ragtag band of misfit allies.

Katherine didn't care.

They'd survived, hadn't they? They were alive and they would win honor for the Alliance again.

While Katherine rode on of her steed, a Chesnutt mare that rarely kept up with the rest of the guild's mounts—though most of the steeds were burdened carrying the bodies of the dead—William took up the rear of the party, watching her. She had more power in her than he'd realized. He thought she'd just been some little thing that Mathew was fucking—it wasn't too farfetched to imagine that at least one of his guild mates was a pervert, not that he'd ever cared to figure out who—and that the only reason she was in the guild, much less going to Outland, was because Mathew had wanting to keep his little whore happy.

How interesting that that wasn't the case. William was further intrigued that she hadn't cried yet. Such hellish devastation. He'd cried when he'd seen his first slaughter, involuntarily of course.

William couldn't help a half smile. Katherine Smithson was someone to keep an eye on, for sure.

~"~

Katherine sat in the guild hall, her shoulders slumped and her lips forming a thin line. That horrific event that had killed so many, nearly destroyed their guild, had taken place a year ago, to the day. She'd told herself that she wouldn't cry, no matter how much she wanted to. It helped that they were back to twenty five people, that those empty chairs that she'd avoided for weeks were filled. Sure, she still didn't know most of the new people very well, but they all seemed nice. They'd never replace the ones who were lost, well, not sentimentally.

Katherine frowned as she conceded that it was entirely possible to replace people, in a strictly role sense, which people didn't generally acknowledge because it made her feel like they were all sheep, mindless and easily interchangeable.

A hand on her head and a chin on her shoulder stirred her from her thoughts and she blinked and looked to her side to see William. While she'd always been cautious to avoid him, after the accident, the eleven of them who had survived had sort of bonded more so than before. And, oddly enough, she'd come to the conclusion that William wasn't so bad. Before, it had always seemed like he was the brooding type, with those massively unhealthy looking circles under his eyes, that pronounced hunch that left his head looking like it went in front of his torso instead of above it, and the way he was so gangly, much thinner than most any human man she'd ever seen. Hell, the quel'dorei who lived in Stormwind, few as they were, often clucked their tongues when they saw him, wondering how a human could still live when so thin. They certainly would never allow themselves to look so...deathly.

However, after the massacre, William had seemed to make an effort to lift his head back to where it ought to be—not that it ever quite made it and his hunch prevailed against all attempts to destroy it—and he made a point of smiling more. It made the dark patches under his eyes look almost friendly, somehow. He had such a pleasant smile and that was how he greeted her when she looked at him, with his lips pressed together, forming a simple U.

He lightly put his fingers against the small of her back with his other hand and Katherine jolted out of her own slouch. Carrol Bishop, one of the other survivors from their guild, sat across from her and he looked up as she moved so suddenly, from the little scribblings he'd been doing on a scrap of parchment he'd found in the street just outside of the guild hall. He was almost out of space on both sides anyway, so he could afford a distraction.

Carrol wasn't in much better shape than William. He wasn't quite as thin, quite as hunched and his circles under his eyes were considerably less prominent. He was a mage, while William was a warlock. He eyed William with open suspicion as the warlock released Katherine and slid into the chair beside her. "William's right, you know?" Even as Katherine and William both turned curious eyes his way, he shrugged, trying to fit another spell theory or two into an area the size of his thumbnail in the upper corner of the page. "You shouldn't slouch. You'll end up looking like us."

William offered a quick nod and Katherine sighed. "I just..."

She felt her lower lip tremble at the thought and she snapped her jaws shut, squeaking as she bit her tongue. Almost instantly, she felt several different flavors—it was an accurate term, really, for magic felt different, based on who cast it and so every individual alive had a different 'flavor' in Katherine's eyes—of light and nature magic wash over her. So many healers and disciples of the light. There were five paladins and three priests. Two druids and a shaman. And Eric the rogue was damn good with a bandage. Not that he'd thrown any at her. He was content to sit in a corner and be roguish. It was easy to forget he was there. Which, Katherine supposed was something to look for in a shadow stalker.

William patted her shoulder the same time that their dwarf hunter Durgand Brewsbeard, another survivor of that horrid day, slung an arm over her shoulders and hugged her, trapping William's hand for a moment. "It'll be okay, lass. It'll be okay."

It was the wrong thing to say. Not because it didn't make her feel better—it did, really—but because it incited the beginnings of lectures from almost every follower of the light present, seven of the eight, anyway. They all quieted awkwardly as they realized they'd all had the same idea.

Mathew Cunningham was the last to walk into the guild hall and he seemed somewhat irritated that it was so. He'd never been late before...but then, that was before the drinking and the self-loathing. He slipped into a chair without so much as a word of greeting, though he did nod toward Katherine. In truth, he probably would have come up to her and asked how she was faring—she had always been such a sweet, sensitive girl and he felt he owed Gregor to make sure she was alright—but she seemed to be holding up, especially with Durgand and Carrol there. Mathew didn't trust William as far as he could throw him, in that he trusted him only enough to raid with him. He could, after all, throw the meek man fairly far.

Seated and avoiding eye contact as Mathew was, Sir Caudry took that as his cue and he rose to his feet, coughing into one hand to silence the few sporadic conversations going on about the room. "As you know, we've, ah," he trailed off as he made eye contact with William. The warlock always looked so bored when he talked. It made him nervous. "We've been through some rough times, but we think that it's time to strike into Outland. Yes, the Horde and even some Alliance guilds have already trekked through the portal, but...well, we can still do a lot of good. Eric and a few others have been investigating the Serpent Shrine Cavern. In a few days, we intend to strike at the naga presence—"

"You already said that."

Sir Caudry paused, his gaze slipping toward the buxom woman sitting near him at the table. Emma Clarington smiled sweetly at him, her fingers intertwined with Kristoff's. They'd been recruited to the guild by William, when it had looked like Reverent was doomed to disband. By the light, even when they'd tried to fill the slots of those who had been lost, it had seemed like the universe was set on pulling apart the remaining guild members. Sir Caudry could remember how almost a dozen different guilds had been worming their ways into Carrol's schedule, offering him casual invites. Carrol had merely turned them all into sheep until they stopped coming. It would have been bad for him, if Reverent really had disbanded.

Emma, however, was oblivious to this. Her smile stayed in place and despite the darkness curling around her, invisible to the naked eye, Sir Caudry could almost swear he was looking at an angel. A fallen angel, maybe. "You already said we were going to strike Outland, so wouldn't it be obvious that we'd be striking at the naga? And anything else out there?"

Sir Caudry frowned. "Well, I'm trying to be pointed."

"That's a lot of words for a pointed statement," Emma said, her voice like a melody. Kristoff brought her hand up to his lips, as though to hide his condescending smile.

Sir Caudry had to fight not to take a defensive stance. However, before he could think of something to say, Mathew spoke up. "Shawn Darrow is already leading a small group who's investigating the cavern, so once we hear back from them, we'll be heading out." He rose to his feet. "In other words, don't go making any plans for the next week or so." He nodded dismissively, but paused when he realized that it really wasn't his place to dismiss anyone. As a few gazes slid toward Sir Caudry—mostly the newer people—to see if he had anything else to add, the paladin merely gave them a half-hearted nod. Was he ever going to be a real guild leader?

"That's all for now."

Topher, however, slammed his hand, palm open, onto the table. "Aren't you both forgetting something?" When everyone, half out of their seats, looked toward the priest, he grinned and pointed toward Katherine. "We have a birthday coming up."

"Yes," Katherine murmured, her cheeks flushing, "because _that's_ as important as discussions on saving the world."

"You'll be eighteen," Topher shrugged. "That's a good year."

Katherine barely managed a weak smile before excusing herself and darting out of the building. Mathew had already headed out and she debated chasing after him or not. His shoulders were rigid, emanating a vibe that he wanted to be alone. Katherine squared her own shoulders and hurried after him. She needed a friend for the evening and she had a feeling that Mathew did as well.

...-...

A/N: Herp derp. I fail at math. So, you may or may not notice that I edited this chapter a bit and reposted it (I only changed like two words). The main thing is that Katherine was supposed to be sixteen, not seventeen when she went to the portal. Her birthday was like a week later, which is why she'll still be eighteen in a few days.


	2. Chapter 2: Curses and Birthdays

_A/N: I should have said this earlier, but for the purposes of this fic's story, I edited the WoW's time line a bit, in that death knights and draenei joined the Alliance about the same time, which was a little before the dark portal opened._

...-...

Evyrres Skyrunner sat in the Blue Recluse, a full mug of ale in front of him, untouched. With a yawn, his long, purple ears bobbed ever so slightly as his glowing gaze swept over the tavern once more.

Carrol was late.

Honestly, he should have been used to it by now. The damnable mage lived according to his own sense of time, which was poor at best; sometimes Evyrres had to wonder if the man was secretly toying with time magics, for it seemed nothing else would leave him so disconnected from the rest of the world. Though he _should_ have been used to it, after over a thousand years of punctuality, tardiness still made him bristle.

It wasn't just Carrol that he was looking for. While that was the person the elf wanted to meet, Evyrres had little doubt in his mind that it would be Sehrra who would find him first.

As if thinking the name had summoned his fellow druid, he suddenly felt a tongue caress his earlobe. His eye twitched as he jerked from his thoughts.

The woman giggled as she leaned over the arm of his chair. Sehrra Silverdusk was probably the only druid in existence that Evyrres would have loved to escape from. However, she had followed him across continents and oceans and he doubted even going to Outland would give him peace for long.

Sehrra plucked a lock of his long green hair and began to braid it. Evyrres downed his ale in a single gulp before slouching back in his chair, attempting only once to free himself from the woman's grooming by jerking his head to the side. She merely picked up braiding a different section of hair.

Three years ago, Sehrra hadn't given a damn about his existence and he had never realized what a blessing it had been. Sure, they worked together from time to time, but conversations were always strictly business or brief forays into druidic topics. Nice, distancing, impersonal banter.

But then that...incident had occurred. Evyrres' frown deepened. If Sehrra didn't think that he'd 'taken a questionable lover', she would most likely still be in Kalimdor, performing menial tasks for their people.

"Waiting on Carrol, again?" She purred, her lips near his ear.

Evyrres turned to give her a pointed glare before standing up just long enough to set her down in a seat of her own. She leaned toward him on the table, her chin cupped in one hand and her blue hair spilling wildly over her shoulders.

As Evyrres looked desperately toward the door, willing his absent friend to appear and end his suffering, Sehrra sighed. "I don't know what you expect from that human. He's not even a fraction as old as we are, yet you think he'll be able to help you with that silly little hobby of yours?"

Ordering another drink, Evyrres frowned when Sehrra snatched the cup away and began to sip it. She stared at him over the rim of her mug with a look of mock curiosity. With another sigh, he shook his head. He hated talking to her. It just fueled her odd affection...though in some ways silence did the same thing. "Wanting to study alternative methods for removing curses is not a 'silly' hobby. My findings have already proved useful to our order."

Sehrra blinked at him. Once. Twice. Setting her mug down, she leaned back in her chair, draping one arm over the back of it as she let her other hand rest on the table. "Yes, they have. You've made more breakthroughs than almost all of the older druids combined. Isn't that enough?"

"There's still at least one curse I can't remove."

"Hers."

There was venom behind the word and Evyrres ran his fingers through his hair, frowning as his pinky caught on one of the braids. With Sehrra, it was always about _her_. Couldn't she just get over it? Couldn't she see that if such a curse could be placed on one person, it could be done to another and another? Druids were supposed to care about all living things and that's what he was doing.

Sehrra was picking at her robes. "You've laid the groundwork. Let someone else finish it. Or have you invested your pride into this little endeavor as well as your heart?"

The only thing that kept Evyrres from screaming in frustration and flipping the damn table was the scrawny man who came stumbling into the tavern, scrolls and papers spilling from his arms as a look of mild panic graced his features.

Carrol Bishop had been quite happily holed up in his windowless study when another mage had abruptly slammed Carrol's book against his desk and pointed accusingly at a pulsating, chiming orb of light hovering just over his shoulder.

It had been a genius idea—in theory.

He was always so easily enraptured in tales and studies of the arcane that he'd decided to give himself an alarm. Gnomish technology had failed him, so he had turned instead to spellcraft. He'd set up a spell to start flickering and making soft noise when it was time for him to be elsewhere. When that had failed to alert him properly, he had tweaked the spell so that the light would flash brighter and the chimes would get louder the longer it took him to notice it.

Apparently that hadn't worked either.

As he stared at Evyrres and his harasser—Carrol didn't call Sehrra by her name because he had this irrational fear that if he acknowledged he knew who she was, she might start tormenting him as well...and while some might want a beautiful woman hanging over them, most anyone would realize that appearances were nothing next to the grating personality Sehrra possessed—he offered up a quick string of apologies. Sehrra always seemed to find Evyrres when Carrol was late.

Even as his druidic friend jumped to his feet to assist the mage with his research, the bartender recognized Carrol and disappeared into the back. A regular to the Blue Recluse, everyone who worked there knew Carrol and knew that his patronage could probably single handedly keep them open. He wasn't a drunkard by any means. In fact, Carrol refused to touch alcohol. He disliked how easily it made people lose control and how entire nights could be forgotten. His time was precious to him and he wasn't going to waste a good few hours in a stupor when he could be reading.

Instead, he ate. Despite being thinner than some high elves, he could put away his food. His guild mates suspected that was how he was able to spend days at a time without sleep, but then, others simply settled for the fact that Carrol was Carrol. The owners of the Blue Recluse were glad of it, whatever the reason, for even a slow day would rake in money as soon as Carrol stepped through the door.

The mage chose to ignore Sehrra as she muttered a good morning, even though it was clearly afternoon—it was, wasn't it? Carrol paused to eye the two elves. Both had slight rings under their eyes and he nodded to himself. It was afternoon. Nocturnal as they were, they always looked worse the later in the day that they found themselves still awake and Evyrres looked as a human might at two in the morning after waking up at five a.m. the previous day.

Carrol had offered to have their meetings at night, seeing as there was a damn good chance he'd be up anyway, but Evyrres had declined. It had been the elf's hope that Sehrra would have to sleep sometime.

When the mage had first met Evyrres, he had seemed so enthusiastic to study together. He wanted to be able to remove any curse and—while Carrol had never really cared about them before—the mage had looked forward to being able to compare arcane practices to druidic ones. However, almost a month later, Sehrra had walked in on one of their study sessions, wearing their guild's tabard, and Evyrres had changed, turning from curious to moody, though every so often his natural self would peer through his edgy haze.

He was in the midst of one such moment now as he eyed one of the scrolls Carrol had dropped. It detailed a few older spells that had fallen into disuse—arcane spells that had been oddly close to curses. Seeing as such old spells had a tendency to reflect back on their caster to some degree, the casters had worked out a spell to negate the backlash.

Sehrra considered 'accidentally' spilling her beer across the table, but decided against it. She'd done that once and it had taken all of Evyrres' strength to keep Carrol from setting her on fire. The mage still loathed her for it.

As the human's shaggy brown hair almost covered his face when he looked down, blocking all of his features save for his scruffy, unshaven chin, she quietly rose from her chair and left the two men to their studies. She would get Evyrres to come around someday, but harassing him whilst his friend was around would prove fruitless.

Neither said a word to her as she left—they wouldn't realize she'd gone for a good, long while.

Sir Jonathan Caudry sighed as he sat in one of the cells of the Stockades. Why couldn't the prisoners have just settled for serving their sentences? It seemed so ideologically flawed to think that violence would actually get them anywhere, though he supposed it was somewhat hypocritical...after all, he'd used violence to silence them, hadn't he?

He frowned as he looked up in time to see William walking past the cell, a pair of plate boots slung over the warlock's staff, which rested against his shoulder as he slouched along.

Sir Caudry walked into the hall and called out to the warlock, who stilled for a moment without turning around. The paladin stalked after his guild mate and jerked the boots off his staff, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. As William turned to give him an incredulous stare, Sir Caudry frowned. "I told you to leave the corpses be."

The warlock's expression turned toward bored irritation, though he made no attempt to pick up his staff. Instead a few harsh stomps came from around the corner until a felguard, laden down with stolen armor, came up, picked up the staff, and jerked the boots from Sir Caudry's hands. William took his weapon from the creature as it walked back by on its way out of the dungeon, his eyes never leaving his guild leader.

Sir Caudry might well have exorcised the damned pet, had his name not been called. No sooner had he turned his back, William had resumed his exit, robes making dull swishing noises as he walked. He was but one of three warlocks in the guild, but was also—in some ways—the strangest. Unlike any other caster Sir Caudry knew, William could weave any spell without so much as a word. It made the man deadly.

Sir Caudry kept him in the guild because of the damage the warlock might do in another. While many pushed for full war against the Horde, Sir Caudry believed that peace could be achieved eventually, if they could just learn to work together. If William were recruited to attack the Horde, it would be highly counterproductive to his vision of a better future.

It was actually somewhat confusing as to why the warlock hadn't left on his own yet, in all honesty, for it was clear that William did not share his guild leader's hopes—or his respect for life.

Whatever his reasons, he stayed.

Sir Caudry walked into the room at the end of the hall, only to pick up his pace and cast a holy seal into a prisoner who had tackled his healer to the ground.

Topher let a few expletives fly as he helped himself to his feet. He was a fucking healer and he didn't see why the fuck he'd been left to fend for himself. His guild leader could act emo later...when they weren't in a dungeon. As for that worthless warlock...he'd only asked if it was worth it—well, he'd really asked, "Considering that for a mere, what, forty years you control darkness only to have your pets tear your soul to shreds upon your death for the rest of eternity, is it really worth it?"—and it had been completely unnecessary to draw that prisoner's attention and then abandon him as soon as the convict was focused on the priest.

Without thanking his savior, Topher stalked past him and down the hall. "Where the hell did everyone else go?" He paused and glared at his guild leader. "And why the fuck didn't anyone stick around to protect me while I prayed for the dead?"

Sir Caudry shook his head. Topher was such a whiner, though his heals more than made up for it. "We crushed the rebellion. I didn't think any of the remaining prisoners would attack."

"So you left me alone?"

"You had William." Even as Topher scowled, Sir Caudry glanced around. There should have been two more with them. "Where are Gray and Kisses?"

Topher seemed to just remember them himself and shrugged, massaging a shoulder slowly. Thank the light he could heal himself. "Kisses went back to Archerus for something...didn't say what. I think William was planning on summoning her back when she was ready." He frowned, looking about for their tank. "I don't know what happened to Gray."

Gray Tankard couldn't quite see through his drunken haze, but the women—and men—of Stormwind looked a hell of a lot uglier than usual. And they were all staring at him with rather odd expressions. He looked down to make sure he hadn't forgotten his pants again. When he saw that he was still fully clothed, every buckle in place and accounted for, he gave the nearest person a stern look.

"How 'bout ye learn some manners, yeah?" The dwarf made a shooing motion, only to frown as the person didn't leave. He squinted, trying to get a better view. He really needed to lay off the drinking—Sandra was going to kill him if she caught wind of this. Whenever he stumbled home in this sort of state, she always went off about perpetuating dwarven stereotypes and how their people's good name was being run through the mud just because he couldn't stay sober.

As for Gray, he didn't see anything wrong with a bit of dirt. Added character.

A few yards behind him, a small gnome, Tinker Goodwrench—more commonly called Kisses for her stellar personality—sat atop a rotting ghoul's shoulders as she watched the paladin throw a few insults toward one of Archerus' guards. Her dull pink hair was up in two dog ears and her black lips formed a thin line. Had he taken the death gate after her? She narrowed her eyes, the black streaks running down her cheeks crinkling with her taunt skin. Could creatures of the light actually use the death gates? That would be a huge security breach...especially if those Scarlet idiots ever figured it out.

From her perch, she was almost as tall as the human death knight who stood beside her. Shawn Darrow frowned and gripped the hilt of one of the swords hanging from his belt.

"We'd better get rid of him before the Highlord hears about this."

Shawn had been handsome in life, though the dark scar across his nose somewhat diminished his looks. The air formed a thin puff of frozen air in front of his lips as he sighed and took a few steps forward, noticing that his fellow knight was ignoring him. If Kisses wasn't going to claim their paladin, he would have to do it.

She watched him walk over to Gray and strike up a friendly enough conversation, brushing off as the dwarf tried to ask him which district they were in.

Kisses tapped her ghoul's face and the creature shambled forward, toward the others. As it walked, she pulled out a small scroll and pen from her belongings and unrolled it. She scratched a few quick words across it before pointedly making a large period. The letters flickered to life with a soft blue glow and then faded out.

In a moment, she felt the small tug in the back of her mind that always came with a summons and could almost see William—it was odd how the notion of who was summoning you came into mind, but she had given up wondering about the intricacies of magic, fel or otherwise, a long time ago. She waited to see both Gray and Shawn disappear before accepting the summons herself.

She had to jerk her ghoul's hair to make it stop abruptly before walking into their summoner. His task complete, William didn't wait to see if anything else was needed and walked off, no doubt to set small animals on fire or some other warlocky type thing. Kisses didn't really pay attention to what they did, outside of their uses to her.

However, even as she forgot about the spindly man and resumed her worries over whether paladins could actually use death gates—obviously that had to have been what had happened, for how else could the dwarf have gotten there?—Kisses' eyes widened sharply as she abruptly found herself removed from her ghoul by two large hands.

Sehrra held the little gnome to her and cuddled with her, patting down Kisses' hair as death knight contemplated how best to exact her revenge. She'd considered raising the damned druid as a new ghoul, but had decided against it. Annoying as she was, Sehrra would probably keep her free will and end up as a death knight herself. Kisses figured she would have to fall on her blade as many times as it took to end her unlife, should that ever happen. After all, she shared the Alliance with the stupid elf, why should she have to share the Knights of the Ebonblade, too?

The little gnome fought back a shiver as other fears crept into her mind. Sehrra was another reason for concern, should the death gates be accessible by the living.

Sir Caudry awkwardly reached out and pulled Kisses free from her elven captor and cautiously set the small woman on the ground, releasing her as soon as her boots touched the cobblestones. It wasn't that he feared the little creature, but rather that he didn't want to offend her and, realistically, there was no way to get Sehrra to set something down, other than to take it away from her.

Kisses scampered quickly to her ghoul and climbed back up to her perch on its shoulders. The ghoul stared blankly at its surroundings, not registering that its master had ever been gone.

Sehrra seemed content to keep her hands to herself for the time being, though she eyed the paladin as though she might jump him and remove his armor on a moment's whim.

Forcing himself to pretend not to notice, Sir Caudry greeted Shawn with a firm hand shake. Shawn eyed the paladin and laughed when he saw that the man looked worn out. "Don't tell me the Stockades actually gave you a challenge? I remember cleaning up in there back before my unlife."

"The deserters and prisoners from Outland are a bit harder to control than the Defias gang," Sir Caudry sighed and shook his head. "They have more experience fighting...and some of them used to defend our people."

"Poor, poor them," Kisses muttered. When she saw Sir Caudry throw a frown her way, she rolled her eyes, not that anyone could see the action behind their blue glow. "They made their graves, let them lay in them."

"Made their beds," Topher corrected. He rarely talked around Sehrra—where the hell had she come from, anyway? Like half the men in the guild, he was afraid to draw her attention.

Kisses narrowed her eyes as she glared his way. "I meant what I said, thanks."

William had not headed off to set small animals on fire, but rather, to cash in his loot and then make a beeline to the local flower shop. He'd been keeping an eye on the store for the last seven weeks, memorizing their delivery schedules and inspecting the various merchandise that came in.

Truthfully, the owners wanted to tell the warlock off, since he never bought anything and his mere presence seemed to make half the shop wilt, but somehow, that same presence kept their mouths shut.

However, today was different. William sauntered through the door, with the light in the room dimming upon his entrance, and walked straight up to the rarer flowers. Even as the lady owner reached for her broom, thinking that this would be the day she would finally drive the damnable man out, he reached forward and plucked a purple lily from one of the stands, turned to the counter and tossed a few gold coins onto it—well over the price of the flower.

Even as the owner's mouth hung open, unsure whether to thank him, thank the light that he'd finally bought something, or just scream that almost two months of frustration had ended in an incident without so much as a word of explanation, William exited the building and the room grew brighter again.

It took William a moment, as he wove his way through the mage district, to realize that his felguard was still following him. Since he had come to befriend Katherine, he had learned that pretty much any type of demon gave her pause for concern, even if they were bound to another's will. Because of that, he had taken to only keeping his pets out during official raids or times when he was called upon to aid in dungeons.

The warlock turned to eye the creature before using a quick shadow bolt to send it back to the nether. After all, one never knew when one might encounter said little mage in the district she called home.

Once he knew he was alone, he continued to make his way through the mossy walkways until he abruptly took a sharp left and stopped in front of a door. He ran a bony hand through his dark hair, blinked a few times to shake the sleep from his eyes, straightened up, and knocked.

After a pause that made him begin to wonder if anyone was even home, the door creaked open and Katherine leaned against the frame, half awake.

She had turned eighteen today and several of her mage friends had woken her up at midnight to start the celebrations. As a result, by noon she was hung over and now, a few hours later, she could barely string a coherent set of words together. She dearly hoped her friends would not be planning the same sort of parties for the rest of her birthdays, for she was certain it would lead her to an early grave.

However, as she saw William standing in the door, a closed lipped smile on his face as he waited for her to greet him, she tried to will the world to stop spinning and gave him a slow nod.

"Hey..." It felt like the time-space continuum might well be breaking apart as her ears rung at the sound of her own voice. "William...what's...brought you over today?"

The warlock took a step forward and held the lily out to her, smile still in place.

Katherine blinked a few times as she stared down at the flower, before a slow look of recognition crept into place. She pushed her tussled brown hair out of her face and stepped out into the afternoon light, carefully taking the birthday gift from William.

"This is a Stratholme Lily..." As she held it up to sniff it, William donned a look of surprise, like he hadn't realized it when he'd bought it. Katherine felt tears pricking her eyes. "Back in Lordaeron...my father used to bring them for me when he'd come home from the market..." She felt her words catching in her throat and she fought back a hiccupped sob.

William leaned forward into her line of sight and offered her a small kerchief. She smiled as she accepted it and wiped her eyes. "You don't know how much this means..."

The warlock shrugged, his hands in his robe's pockets, and his smile returned. Katherine regained control of herself, though the world was still slightly spinning, and she looked back at the lily. "That's so thoughtful—"

"Katherine!"

One of William's eyes twitched and for a moment his smile looked stretched as he heard the voice. Emma Clarington.

Katherine winced at the loud noise and turned slowly to see Emma trotting up along the path, her imp skittering behind her. The second warlock smiled at Katherine broadly, before dawning a look of concern. "You don't look too well. Are you okay?"

With a half smile, Katherine shrugged. "Oh...started partying a bit too early..."

Emma laughed. "Perhaps we should tell Gray you're under the weather then? I know he was planning a little celebration of sorts tonight, at the guild hall."

William watched his fellow warlock with a look of contempt. As Emma gave him a smug grin, which Katherine's muddled mind tried to make sense of as she looked back to her first visitor to see if there was some problem, William's expression changed to that of innocent curiosity. Before Katherine could start to make sense of the tension in the air, Emma snapped her fingers and her imp darted up, carrying a long box. She pulled it from her pet's hands and held it out to Katherine. "For you, my dear. Happy birthday."

Katherine felt a twinge of guilt. While yes, she'd come to enjoy William's company to a degree, the other warlocks in her guild always made her feel a bit uneasy. Kristoff had a cruelty about him that made her shy away and Emma was always around him, which made Katherine shy away from her by default.

Yet here Emma was, being quite thoughtful. Still...it felt weird to accept presents from her, seeing as they'd barely ever talked, despite being guild mates for almost a year.

Emma watched her, her pale features illuminated with excitement. A few strands of blonde hair fell down from her bun as she pushed the box toward the mage. "Go ahead, I promise it's not cursed."

As the warlock laughed it off, Katherine tried to hide the waver in her smile. She didn't get 'lock humor. William watched Katherine, irritated, as she opened the box. Of course it wasn't cursed. He wouldn't have let her touch it if it was.

Katherine blinked back a look of shock as she held up a delicately stitched dress, with intricate beading along the low cut neck and bottom of the sleeves. She ran her hand over the soft fabric before looking back at Emma, who seemed pleased by her reaction. "This is beautiful. Thank you."

Emma darted forward and hugged her, ignoring as Katherine's body went rigid for a moment. When she pulled back, she was grinning from ear to ear. "I thought you might like it. And you always dress so modestly, you could use something a bit more...grown up. Since you're legal and all, now."

Katherine stared at Emma for a long moment, not sure she liked the way the warlock was talking. However, it wasn't until she glanced at William that she realized that her lily had been crushed between the box and her body when she'd been hugged.

Even as she tried to apologize to William and he made a point to quickly un-knit his brow and shake his head, implying it not to be her fault, Emma gasped. "Oh my! I'm so sorry." She gave William a quick smirk before placing a hand on Katherine's shoulder and smiling sympathetically. "It wouldn't have lasted long, anyway...flowers are so quick to fade."

Emma's jab had been too blunt and even as William glared her way, Katherine frowned. "I thought it was a nice gift." She quickly caught herself. "They're both...wonderful. Thank you."

With a smile, Emma looped arms with William and began to drag him backwards. The man's eyes widened for a moment as he stumbled back and then glared at his kidnapper. She ignored him. "I'm so glad you like them, but I think we should leave you to rest..." she smiled sweetly at William and then Katherine, "Since, you know, there's that party going on tonight. You should get some sleep. Gray and the others will be so disappointed if you're too tired to enjoy it."

Sleep sounded amazing to Katherine. She nodded and smiled pointedly at William, nodding her head again and holding up the crushed flower before wishing them well and heading back inside to crash until nightfall.

No sooner had her door closed, William jerked free from Emma.

The woman laughed cruelly. "Oh, William. Did you really—" She gasped and clutched her throat as dark runes flickered across her skin, temporarily silencing her. By the time the pain had subsided—though the curse of tongues' main effect, speaking in demonic, would last a good few minutes longer—William had made his escape.


	3. Chapter 3: Room for Concern

Mathew Cunningham's one real flaw was that he was a total dick. While yes, he could find fault in anything and bring misery into even the most joyful of occasions, this one wasn't entirely his fault. Sure, he'd interrupted Katherine's birthday party last night, expecting to talk about strategy for defeating the enemies plotting in the Outlands, but how was he supposed to know they'd be using the damned guild hall to throw a celebration for a barely legal girl?

If he was still in charge, there wouldn't be so much time wasted on frivolous bull shit. Then again...that was sort of the reason that he _wasn't_ the guild leader anymore.

But why the hell hadn't anyone let him _know_ about what was going on? Sure, he might not exactly fit in at a party—especially considering he was a recovering alcoholic and a bastard of a drunk—but if he'd known it was going to happen, he could have made a point of not being there. It was stupid to exclude him from such information.

Shawn Darrow tapped Mathew's hand and he snapped out of his thoughts. Of the newer members of the guild—the ones who had joined after Mathew had rage quit, only to be talked into coming back a few months later—he liked Shawn the most. The death knight was always straight to the point and Mathew didn't think he'd ever seen him waste time on extraneous activities. There was a war to be won and Shawn was going to see to it that the Alliance would be the victor. At one point, Mathew had been like Shawn...well, better than him, really. But now...Mathew needed to step up. "What was that?"

Shawn sighed and began to re-explain the information he'd come across while scouting out the Serpentshrine Cavern. The death knight had the patience of a saint and, honestly, he figured Mathew had a lot on his mind. Mathew had been so distraught to have dampened the excitement of the party—well, Shawn also suspected he was hurt to have been left out, after all, Mathew was an old family friend of the Smithsons—that he had pretty much stalked out into the night, without direction, his only goal to escape the awkward looks of the others. Shawn had followed him.

The death knight never really felt like celebrating much. It wasn't some overzealous attempt at redemption. Rather, he couldn't get drunk any more, being undead and all—though rumor among the death knights was that the forsaken had no such troubles...fucking death runes; Arthas really had taken everything away from them. It kind of made him feel lame. Honestly, who wants to be the one sober guy in the group? Kisses had no such problem—she liked to take full advantage of the drunks, getting them to promise her various favors in return for her _angelic_ assistance in getting them home.

But Mathew, he never got distracted by simple pleasures or pleasantries. While Shawn had originally thought his actions to be fueled by guilt, Sir Caudry had told him that, no, Mathew had always been this driven.

Thus, when Shawn had caught up to Mathew, he'd suggested they go somewhere nice and quiet to discuss what should be done in Outland. The warrior had almost looked enthusiastic, which Shawn supposed was the closest to any positive emotions the man could feel. Just as they'd considered riding over to the Blue Recluse, Kristoff Taylor had seemed to materialize out of the shadows and came up with the notion of going to Goldshire. When asked, Kristoff—the last and most serious of the warlocks in their guild; it was said the only time he genuinely smiled at someone was right before they died—had merely shrugged and said it would take longer for those 'light-loving dipshits' to find them.

Neither Shawn nor Mathew quite understood why Kristoff was in their guild. His comment had been directed at the five paladins and three priests—and draenei and night elves in general—who were also included as guild members. He loathed them and made a point of letting them know. It was suspected that he had been the one to set Topher on fire during their last raid. They had been fighting an earth elemental and to this day no one could say—for sure—what had happened there.

While a warlock, Kristoff didn't look nearly as frail as most casters. Rather, he looked like he would have made a good rogue, his muscles toned and his reflexes surprisingly quick. But the dark arts had called to him and if anyone asked him why he'd chosen to listen, he merely gave them the bird.

Shawn had been surprised when Mathew had agreed to head down to Goldshire. After all, Goldshire Inn would be loud at this time of night—honestly, it was always loud there—but he supposed that the priests and paladins probably would avoid the area, as that was where the nymphos seemed to hang out all the time. With their luck, though, their guild's followers of the light would be on their heels on a field trip to teach all those sinful sex addicts the error of their ways.

The three had made good time, getting there just before lunch the following day. Though they had tried to discuss the Cavern on their ride, it had quickly come to light that the others would need to see Shawn's maps of the place if they were to get a clear idea of what to do.

They'd taken one of the rooms upstairs so that they could have some privacy from prying eyes, and it sort of bothered both Shawn and Mathew the way the innkeeper had eyed the three of them and then shrugged, like it wasn't his business who was doing what. It hadn't helped that Kristoff had draped his arms around both their necks and winked.

It would turn out, however, that Kristoff wasn't a complete prick. Or that perhaps he was merely biding his time before screwing over—metaphorically, of course—his two guild mates. The inn had taken to importing teas from Booty Bay, a Sprogworks' special blend, no less—they already had the finest ale in the Eastern Kingdoms and it seemed the little goblins were set on taking over the tea market as well—and that was good for a man on the wagon, like Mathew.

Thus, after arranging for their drinks to be brought up to them, the three headed upstairs, commandeering a few chairs on the way. When they got up there, Shawn spread his maps across the bed and the three of them began to talk strategy.

The waitress who brought them their drinks seemed kind of disappointed when she walked in to see Shawn leaning over the bed, his finger pressed into a map, with the other two simply nodding and asking about what sort of patrols there were.

Thus they'd spent the last few hours going over different plots and plans.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, frown firmly in place. However, he'd recaptured Mathew's attention and the warrior ran his fingers down his face, rubbing his eyes to try to keep himself awake. None of them had gotten any sleep the night before and while Shawn didn't need sleep, he had a feeling Mathew did. Kristoff probably slept during the day, being a creature of darkness as he was. "You said this room has a giant in it?"

People often wondered how Shawn was able to get such detailed explanations of areas. In truth, it wasn't hard. Waltz in the front door, run around, hide a bit, play dead if caught and hope to the light and nether both that the idiots who threw you out with the other corpses didn't believe in cremation. There were definite, strategically viable advantages to being dead.

"Yes. He has murloc minions though—"

"Are you kidding me?" Kristoff's voice held the resentment only found in someone who had been chased half way across Elwynn Forest by the damnable creatures at some point in his life.

With a heavy sigh, Shawn affirmed his statement and directed his attention back to his maps and charts and began to explain what else he'd found in the Cavern.

~"~

Jensen Brown sat across from Katherine at the Pig and Whistle Tavern, picking at one of his nails, nervously. He was a paladin, a man of the light, an upholder of all that is just and good, so it was his moral responsibility to warn her. William was not the sort of man to be trusted. He had seen the way she had smiled at the warlock last night and the thought of that weasel-y little monster getting his hands on her made him shudder.

He cleared his throat, but felt his resolve waiver as he looked across at her. He didn't want to seem presumptuous...or nosy. "I would like to offer you some counsel...feel free to take it or not, but I just think it would do well for you to at least hear."

Katherine stared across at Jensen, a polite smile plastered to her face. She didn't normally come to old town, seeing as she—and most everyone she knew—preferred the Blue Recluse. However, Jensen had been rather adamant that they not go there and she suspected he was trying to avoid someone, especially considering he had kept looking over his shoulder the whole way there.

In truth, Katherine got tired of the preachy tendencies of the paladins and priests of the guild. Her father had taught her to be a good person and she didn't need some faith in the light to keep her on the straight and narrow. And man, the light could be narrow. One small injury during one of her experiments with ice crystals and she'd been chastised by Topher for a week.

She was a prodigy of sorts—she'd joined the guild back when she was fourteen and was easily the youngest member. However, regardless of how skilled she might be, every damn paladin and priest she passed seemed to want to take her under his or her wing and offer her advice and guidance.

As she managed to keep her smile in place while Jensen spoke awkwardly around whatever he was trying to say, she supposed she should be grateful for their help...though she couldn't help but wonder if there would be such a high population of thieves in Stormwind if they would just divide and conquer instead of all focusing on her.

Jensen could feel that he was losing Katherine's interest. In another moment, she would probably make an excuse to leave. "I'm sorry. I'm...not the best at this."

It was true. Prior to today, Jensen had been the only damn one to leave her alone. Katherine somehow kept her annoyance hidden behind a sincere smile. "It's fine."

With a nod, Jensen started again. "Okay. Well. You are finally considered a young woman of the Alliance—" he stopped himself, his cheeks flushing. "Not that I see you like that. I mean, I don't think you're a child, but—"

"I know what you mean," Katherine said, fighting to keep her voice from falling flat. Why the hell did everyone have to care so much about her age? She was legal now. Good for her. The only person that should have mattered to would be say, an older boyfriend, which she didn't have.

Jensen felt like he was drowning, but he nodded. "Well, I just think...obviously, you can make your own decisions now...well, you have been for a while, but I mean..." He took a deep breath. "Please don't get involved with William."

Katherine felt her eye twitch. This whole thirty minute, secret lecture had been about William? Her smile was stretched as she ran her fingers through her hair, the locks falling carelessly over her shoulders. She looked around the dingy inn for something to redirect her anger towards, managed to draw in her emotions, and looked back at Jensen.

"Thank you for your concern." The paladin looked ready to say something else, so she spoke faster. "But I'm afraid that you've misread something." She waited to make sure he wouldn't interrupt her before continuing. "He brought me a very thoughtful present yesterday and I was just happy. It brought back old memories of a better time. I'm not going to jump into bed with the first man to bring me flowers."

"He brought you flowers?" Jensen blinked, surprised. He hadn't pegged William for that sort of guy. The warlock was always so creepy, hanging out a bit behind the rest of the group, by himself. He always had such dark looks too, and it always seemed like shadows were drawn to him, casting him in perpetually dim lighting. Even if the warlock stood surrounded by sha'tar, Jensen was certain he would somehow still manage to stay in shadows. That that man even knew what flowers were...and that they didn't wither at his mere touch...

Katherine sighed and leaned forward, propping her head up in her hands. "Seriously, William's not so bad. I think he's just shy."

Attention snapping back to the mage across from him, Jensen frowned. "You can't honestly think that." When she gave him a blank look, he shook his head. "He's not shy. He's a manipulative master of the dark arts. He'd trade his soul...and yours or mine, if he thought it would get him more power."

Standing up, Katherine frowned down at the paladin. "Kristoff might do that, but I don't think William would." She shrugged as she dropped a few coins on the table, ignoring as Jensen said he would pay for their meal. "Besides, your concern is that I'll get hurt if I get romantically involved with him, right?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Well, problem solved. I'm far too busy to be in a relationship with anyone."

Feeling she had made her point, Katherine turned promptly, head held high as she tried to prove her confidence behind her words, and walked out.

Jensen sat alone for a few moments, staring after her, before he finally rose to his feet and paid for his share of meal as well.

~"~

Katherine had just reentered into the mage district when she saw something that made her turn around and peer down a small side street she'd just passed. William was sitting beneath a tree, reading.

She had to say that she'd never seen him in the open like this before and at first she wondered if he might have gotten the wrong idea yesterday, like Jensen had. As the warlock flipped a page in his book, she dismissed the notion. If he were trying to catch her attention, he would have shown up on her doorstep again, not in some remote part of the district, where she might not even see him.

While she considered saying hi, Katherine knew that she didn't like to be disturbed from her studies, and had seen what happened when Kristoff was disturbed from his. Thus, with a slight smile, she headed home. Perhaps she would mention seeing William, during their next guild meeting. If it turned out it was just a spot he came to for relaxation and not research, maybe she would join him next time.

As she disappeared up the street, a slow, closed-lipped smile spread across William's lips and he flipped another page of his book.

~"~

Emma was laying across the table, on top of Carrol and Evyrres' research. She drummed her fingers against her stomach as the two men debated how best to get rid of her. "You know, as a warlock who specializes in afflictions, I feel that I should tell you that I'm rather offended by your obstinate obsession with curses. I work very hard to make mine effective and it upsets me that you want to be able to undo them."

She'd tried to set the papers on fire when she'd walked in, but Carrol fire-proofed all of his notes and these were no exception. It was a good idea for any fire mage to do, seeing as accidents happened. Knowing she couldn't shadow bolt the work to pieces without owing the owner of the Blue Recluse a new table, she had taken on a physical approach.

Emma frowned as no one responded. Carrol was an annoyingly stubborn little mage, so she instead tried to reason with the druid. "Do you want me to go around scorching all those trees you plant?"

Evyrres glared at her. Had Sehrra put her up to this? "I haven't planted any trees in almost two centuries." It was true enough. For the last two hundred years, he'd been fighting different threats to his people...and in the last three years he'd been researching curses.

With a pronounced sigh, which made her bosom heave quite noticeably, Emma rolled her eyes. "My point is, I work hard. You are making me work harder, which makes you work harder, which makes me work even harder. When will it end?"

Evyrres cocked his head. "You're mad at us because we're making you a better warlock?" As Emma flashed him a dark look, he shrugged. "Most people can't dispel curses to the level we can, so think about it. Unless you've some reason to fear _we_ will put a stop to your havoc, you've pretty much made sure no one else can stop you by striving to get to our level."

Emma sat up slowly, dragging her hands over the pages to shuffle them. She smiled as Carrol let out a cry. The mage really couldn't stand when his organization was altered. "That may be, but you'll still be there to stop me when I go to take over the world..." She laughed and they exchanged an uneasy glance. "I'm joking, of course. But if you can reach this level, then so can others. No one else is trying this hard, so I want you to stop. It wouldn't be fair to you to have the rest of the world piggy back off of your findings, would it?"

When Carrol muttered something about not caring, Emma leaned across the table, resting her breasts on the paper he'd been trying to read, despite her annoying presence. "Well then. You're a good man. Why don't you channel that good will toward your little guild mate, Katherine?"

Carrol made a point of looking at the nearest corner instead of the woman flaunting herself in front of him. Even if she was damn good looking, Emma was born into the upper class and there was no way he'd ever have a chance with her...she was just a tease. ...And, of course, she was evil and all.

Emma readjusted herself so that she was sitting on the table and could use her foot to pull Carrol's face back in her direction. "Come now, hear me out. There's a rumor that something wicked has its sights on pretty, little Katherine, and I think it would be wrong of you to let something happen to her."

Carrol stared at her for a moment before slowly pushing her foot away. "Do you actually know what the word 'wrong' means?"

There was a silence over the table and Emma blinked at him several times before she tilted her head slowly to the side, her expression unreadable. At length, she let a single, short laugh escape her throat before sliding off the table, ignoring as a few papers drifted to the ground in her wake. She ran her fingers through Carrol's hair on her way out, calling over her shoulder. "Forgive me for thinking your attentions could be better spent saving a soul."

~"~

Ardren Miller couldn't help it. She pressed down on the giant mushroom once more, glanced around to make sure no one was looking, and then hopped up onto it. It was cushy and soft and she had the strongest urge to ask the druids at the Cenarion Refuge if they could maybe uproot one and let her take it home.

She slid off the mushroom quickly as she heard the soft squik of the ground, implying that someone was coming over. As a few wisps of dark hair fell into her eyes, Ardren irritably reached up to readjust her ponytail. She really ought to just cut it all off, but _he_ was so fond of long hair...

Besides, it wasn't like she'd be a raider forever. Eventually, the world would be saved and she could go settle down somewhere with...

Why did all her thoughts have to be so pointed? She frowned as an arm slung over her shoulders and she turned to see Durgand Brewsbeard resting on top of the mushroom she'd just been on.

"Aye, lass. The Outland is sure full of wonder."

At first she thought he had seen her moment's lapse into curiosity, but when Vry Moonsliver sat down next to him, she realized he was talking to the elf.

Durgand was a brilliant hunter, though he did get a bit distracted from time to time. Not by booze or women...just life in general. He was having one such moment as he sat with the night elf priest.

Though Vry hated Stormwind and often looked irritated when in the city—Ardren had asked once and Vry said it had to do with how closely together everything was built; apparently elven hearing meant that she could hear the whole damn block chattering away and could actually quote people six houses down, if their windows were open—she was a completely different person once in nature. And she was awed by the mysteries of Zangarmarsh. While Ardren couldn't imagine being alive for thousands of years, she supposed that at some point, one would have seen it all and that the oddities of Outland must have come as a nice change of pace for the elven priest.

Vry caught Ardren's attention and patted the mushroom beside her. "Try it."

While she considered jumping on the invite, Ardren managed to restrain herself, instead acting like she hadn't just been perched atop the pillowy plant. As the trio sat upon their makeshift seat, Durgand pulled a small scroll from his satchel and unrolled it, tilting it this way and that with a frown. "Still no word from anyone."

Ardren slouched forward, leaning her chin on Vry's shoulder. The elf didn't seem to mind. "What's taking Shawn so long? How hard is it to tell everyone, 'Hey we found Lady Vashj! Let's go kill her now'?"

Durgand let out a sharp laugh. "I'm sorry, what guild are ye from, eh?" When the women looked at him, he shook his head, chuckling. "Ye should know by now that our lot doesn't organize nearly so fast. Too many people have their own agendas."

With a frown, Ardren rolled her eyes up to watch a small glowing bug wander past them. "Still, when Caudry says to move, they do it."

"Didn't Shawn say he was going to Archerus first?" Vry offered. "Perhaps there was something of importance there that took his attention away from his task?"

Ardren sat up and sighed as the other two turned to look at her. "It's just...the Horde have beat us to almost every place so far. Karazhan, Magtheridon's Lair...they even got to Gruul."

"Ye be talking about Anonymous' exploits, lass," Durgand shrugged. He was, of course, referring to the mysterious guild that always seemed to save the day. There were rumors that the guild was Horde, but then there were also almost as many rumors that the guild was Alliance. It was hard to tell the truths from the fiction. And while tales of the world's elite striking forward to save the world from every peril made great drinking or bedtime stories, neither Ardren nor Vry were overly fond of them. They liked to think themselves well grounded in reality.

Even as Vry scoffed, saying there was no proof of that and that it was probably three separate groups who had taken care of those threats, the dwarf merely shook his head. "Believe you me, lasses. It was Anonymous."

"Well then, you're saying that that guild is Horde, because everyone knows it was Horde near those places before they were taken." Ardren pushed his shoulder. "We need to grab some glory for the Alliance."

Vry laughed softly, amused by the human's eagerness. "We will have plenty of time for that." She shrugged. "Besides, it's not like we haven't been busy."

"But we can't talk about Mount Hyjal," Ardren muttered. Sure the dragons of the bronze flight might be eternally grateful for their work in securing the time line, but who in their right mind would believe them if they tried to brag about it? Ardren didn't want much. It was just bad for morale to have every recent threat to either Azeroth or Outland get credited to the damn Horde. Even if there was no proof that it was their enemies doing the ass kicking, people still seemed to grumble about what were the brave heroes of the Alliance doing besides sitting on their asses. Mayhaps it was simply worries of the Horde becoming strong enough to topple the Alliance that fueled their fretting.

Ardren had to wonder what had happened, herself, though. Prior to the opening of the portal, the Horde and Alliance had circulated tales rumor for rumor, practically. For every threat the Horde had downed, there had been one as great or greater that the Alliance had slain. Both guilds whose actions fueled these stories were anonymous in nature, but the Alliance one had apparently retired or something.

Or perhaps they'd just gotten roped into helping with another broken time line. Ardren hadn't thought of that before. What if they were off in some other reality, stopping Sargeras from returning to Azeroth or ensnared in some equally epic battle?

Regardless, it didn't change the fact that the Horde was beating them to all the glory in Outland. But that would be changing, soon. If Ardren had to punch out every damn orc she saw, it would change. After all, the Horde had only been able to make it to the few minor threats they'd defeated _because_ the Alliance was traveling through time. They were back now and the race was on.

As Ardren smirked as in her thoughts a group of twenty five buff orcs were brought to tears at the news that the Alliance had beat them to Vashj and Kael'thas and Illidan—it was her fantasy, so why not, right?—the scroll still resting in Durgand's hands suddenly glimmered.

As the light faded, words appeared on the page.

_Sorry for the delay. Getting everyone together now. Should be there in a day or two at most._

Ardren jerked the scroll from Durgand and then fished around in his bag for a pen, despite the dwarf's protests. When she found it, she tapped the paper twice and the words vanished. She barely waited for the page to blank before scribbling across it.

_Two days? The hell are we supposed to do for two days?_

Even as Vry and Durgand sighed, the paper's letters disappeared again and were replaced with a much neater handwriting.

_Quest? _

~"~

Emma sat in her room with the curtains drawn, biting one of her well manicured nails as she stared absently into the flame of a small candle on her desk. It produced the only light in the room and cast eerie shadows across the walls. Of course she knew what 'wrong' meant. Her mother, nether shred her soul, had explained it several times—really it was on a daily basis—and Emma got that...sort of. Wrong was something she wasn't supposed to do. Something a little voice in the back of her head would warn her against doing.

There were plenty of little voices back there, but they mostly talked fire or whispered secret promises of power in exchange for mere blood and darkness. Of course it was wrong to kill without reason, but Emma always had a reason. People claimed it was wrong to mislead others, but then look at how many people did it. Emma could hardly be blamed or singled out for following generic human behavior.

There was one 'wrong', however, that Emma could clearly understand as black and white and that was stealing. And that was exactly what Katherine was doing. She was stealing William. To hell with what the damnable man wanted, he was _hers_. As was Kristoff and someday, maybe even Carrol.

Emma hadn't decided if she really wanted to go after the mage yet. In some ways, he seemed like he would be too easy. So many 'stubborn' men had proved too easily persuaded into bed. But then, with the look he'd given her today...maybe it would be a nice little challenge after all.

That didn't change the fact that Katherine had crossed a line.

That was the real reason Emma wanted to put a stop to Carrol and Evyrres' research. If she was to strike down her enemy, make her really suffer, she would need those two out of the picture. Or at least looking in the wrong direction. After all, if she could get them focused on William, they'd believe he was the one behind little Katherine's unfortunate fate.

Emma was so caught up in her ponderings that she didn't notice as the door to her room opened and Kristoff stepped in. He trotted up behind her and leaned down, bringing one of his hands around to catch her chin and pull her face up toward his.

They kissed for a moment before Emma sighed and pulled away. "I don't feel like it."

Kristoff took a seat on the edge of her desk, eyeing her. "We're going to be headed to Outland by the evening."

"Is that where you've been? Plotting a victory for us?" Emma murmured, indifferent. She had more important things to do. Like murder a mage. After all, she hadn't spent the last year in Reverent getting to know everyone because she needed friends. No, she needed to know who she'd have to go through to take out the little wench.

"Still hung up over William?"

Emma's gaze snapped toward him at the mention of the other warlock. Frowning, she propped her head up with one of her hands. "He's the one who's hung up. On that little bitch."

Rolling his eyes, Kristoff sighed. "And you're the one who discarded him."

"Because he was already watching her," Emma snapped. "She stole him with her pretty looks and that grating innocence—" Her voice cut off as Kristoff abruptly leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She slapped him. "What part of no don't you get?"

"Same part as you, apparently," He gave her a slow, wicked looking grin and she paused to eye him.

"Help me destroy her?" She ran her fingers along his arm and reached up to push his robes away from his neck. She let her lips brush against his skin.

After they'd kissed again, Kristoff shook his head. However, he caught Emma around the waist as she scowled and tried to whirl away. "It would be much more effective if William were the one to destroy her, don't you think?"

A slow smile spread across Emma's lips and she put her arms around his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck. They were so easily on the same page. "Sometimes, I think I love you."

Kristoff gave a harsh laugh as he pulled her toward the bed. "You don't even know what love is."


End file.
